


Loud

by aishiterumo



Series: My personal Hematite [7]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anger Management, Angst, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Childhood Trauma, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fear, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26622535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishiterumo/pseuds/aishiterumo
Summary: Chan hates a lot of thing in life, including summer, food, and himself, there will always be one thing he hates more than anything else in the world.
Series: My personal Hematite [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839322
Kudos: 26





	Loud

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: 1. I know that Chan highly respect his dad and he actually is his role-model IRL.  
> 2\. There is a lot of unsaid in this work, which might make it hard to understand. I'm sorry if that's the case. I just can't get myself to write it.
> 
> A/N: this work is part of a series 'My personal Hematite' which contains therapeutic works i wrote during some of my dark moments (panic attacks, depression episode, dissociation episode etc). i wrote these to help myself, they may not make any sense and are not related in any way. read with care, and be mindful of your comments. Thank you.

Chan was sitting in the car, legs tightly shut against each other, one hand on the window, the other holding his phone near his face. He wanted to open the window, to feel the air hitting his face. It was a summer day, and it was really hot. So hot he even made the effort to wear a pair of shorts. He hated his legs. He hated to see his skin, to feel the air touch his skin, to feel his bare skin in general. But, these days, it was just too hot to cover his legs. He somehow was fine with T-shirts, he disliked his arms, but it was bearable to wear sleeveless shirts, most days. But there he was, sitting in the car, wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts. He was tempted to push the button to open the window, yet he knew that if he did that, his father sitting next to him, behind the wheel, would just yell at him to close it. He didn’t waste any effort and bear the heat engulfing the car. He could feel his sweat on his armpits, but what disgusted him the most was knowing that his father was sweating even more than him. He didn’t need to look at him to know that he had droplets of sweat running down his face and circles in a deeper colour under his arms. He closed his eyes a few seconds, sighing heavily as the song playing in the car came to a stop. It was a song from his favourite band, all the songs playing were actually coming from the CD his father had asked him to put in the player. He was always allowed to play his music in the car. Chan looked through the window, at the road he knew too well, listening at the first notes of the next song. Just when the main singer was about to sing the first line of the song, his father’s voice overpowered it.

“ _Your grandma asked how you were doing_ ,” he felt an unwelcomed warmth on his thigh. “ _You should talk to her a bit more,_ ” his father continued.

“ _I’ll text her when we’re home_ ,” Chan mumbled, glancing at his thigh where he saw his father’s hand. He didn’t move. He didn’t look any longer, the road being far more interesting. He also didn’t want to look at his thigh any longer, he hated them. He probably hated them as much as he hated his belly. Maybe he hated his face more, actually. Whatever he hated most; he knew that his thighs were at least in the top three. They were just so big, even more when he was sitting, and they sprawled on the side. As if on cue to his self-depreciating thoughts, the car went through a short tunnel, the window now reflecting Chan’s face almost perfectly. He stared at his eyes, then at his nose. His father’s nose. Big, too big for his face. He wanted to change his nose. Then, he looked at his mouth, going to his chin. He also hated his chin. Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t it be round like all pretty people? Sunlight came back and his face faded into the background. He could still see it, even as faded as it was, he couldn’t forget the image of himself that was there and would never leave as long as he was there. So, he looked at his thighs again. His father’s hand was still on his left thigh. He tried to look elsewhere, but the only thing that caught his eyesight, was the rolls coming from his belly. Why did he have to be sitting? Now, he just felt fat. He was fat. He was just fat embodied into fatness. He could starve himself as much as he wanted, he was never going to lose his fat. “ _You just have big bones_ ,” his mother always said to reassure him as to why he was always larger than his brother. He didn’t have big bones; he was just fat. And he needed to lose it. But he seemed to only lose it where he didn’t want to, and to store it where he wanted to get rid of it. He could still remember his brother joking about him having “ _a fat ass_ ,” but now whichever way he looked at it, he knew it was a lie because it was just flat. Because he starved himself to lose his belly and thigh fat, but he just ended up having no butt.

The car went to a stop. It was a red light. Chan stared at the light; his bottom lip trapped between his front teeth. Anxiety rose inside of him, wondering why the light was so long. “ _Green_ ,” he said in a cheerful tone when the light finally changed. His father drove off again. Chan didn’t really know why he always informed him about the change of light, he could see it himself. He just remembered always being asked to tell him when it changed. Was he ever yelled at for not saying it? He was almost sure it had happened at least a few times, yet he couldn’t be sure of it. Maybe he just imagined it, or maybe he just never forgot once and simply knows that he _will_ get yelled at for forgetting? Oh, no. Now that he thought more about it, he was yelled at for it. The only time his father hadn’t stared at the light, he had forgotten about it, too busy answering a friend on his phone. The car behind them had honked, and his father had yelled. Chan had cried, and his father only yelled louder than his cries. He was a disappointment, that was all. So, now, he never forgot to tell the change of light. And he never forgot with anyone else, even if they didn’t ask. It wasn’t doing any harm, was it?

Chan hated summer so much. He didn’t know if it was because it forced him to wear revealing clothes, or because he always sweated buckets. Maybe it was because he had to see his father in shorts that revealed way too much whenever he sat on the couch. Whatever it was, Chan simply knew he hated summer.

“ _Hey, look what I just got!_ ” His brother ran excitedly to him, a new phone in hand. Chan simply stared at it, worry bubbling in his chest.

“ _What happened to the other?_ ” He couldn’t advert his gaze from the brand-new phone.

“ _I smashed it against the rock bench, you know the one after the bridge when going downtown?_ ” Chan knew which bench he was referring to. Chan knew even before he told him where it was located. “ _My girlfriend broke up with me and I smashed it_ ,” his brother always had anger-management issues, it simply was another level.

“ _Why didn’t you call me instead of smashing it?_ ” He finally looked at him in the eyes, worry evident in his.

“ _Oh, well, you were at school_ ,” he had a faint smile, it amused him. Chan was going to school, when he was not. Sometimes, he envied him for dropping out. Maybe he should too. It was exhausting to go to school every day, to be driven to school every day, to hear remarks at school every day, to live every day. But then, how was he going to leave the house and get a job? He needed to go to school. He needed to go so high in his education that he’ll never have to go to his family again.

“ _Oh, I see_ ,” he simply said to answer his brother. “ _Did he buy it for you?_ ” He couldn’t say his name, he just knew his brother understood who he was referring to.

“ _Of course, do you think mom would?_ ” He chuckled, his phone suddenly going off. He left, smiling at his phone. Chan was left alone, again, in his bedroom. Bedroom he used to share with his brother but was now his own. He looked up from the spot his brother previously occupied, looking at the ripped-off wallpaper. Disney-themed wallpaper that had been there for as long as him. He let out a dry chuckle, sitting on his bed, a hand grazing upon the naked wall. He still remembered his parents’ face when they saw the ripped-off wallpaper. At first, it was only a tiny circle. It was an accident. But then, the satisfying pleasure of ripping things off at taken over Chan and soon enough he found himself ripping off huge chunk of it. There was a huge hole taking almost half of the wall. Right in the middle of it, where the bunkbed used to be. Chan now had a single bed, positioned on the same spot, and the naked wall was fully visible. Words written on it were visible too. Different colours, different handwriting. Chan giggled, remembering how him and his brother used to spend night taking turns on the bunkbed as they shared secret messages. The two of them would write something on the wall next to them, a bit hidden by the frame, then they would go on the other bed—either up or down—to answer the other’s message, doing this for hours until they had nothing left to say. The wall was full of it. Nostalgic, Chan leaned a bit closer to the wall; “ ** _I saw him buy some MARS ice cream and put it in the freezer_** ” he read in his brother’s handwriting. He chuckled, tears sprinkling in his eyes. His stomach grumbled a bit. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten since the day before and reading about his favourite ice cream made him salivate in an expectant way. _Maybe we have some?_ No. A quick glance at his body was enough to dissuade him. He shouldn’t eat. He needed to lose fat.

A bit lost in his thoughts, in his memories and in nostalgia, he didn’t hear his mother calling them for dinner. He simply heard his father closing his bedroom’s door in a loud thud. His parents’ bedroom was right next to his. He heard his father’s footsteps, then him climbing down the stairs. It was loud. It resonated through his ears, into his head, went down straight to his stomach. He felt nauseous. Then he heard it. His name. Loud. Loud and clear. He was late for dinner.

“ _No, please, a bit less_ ,” he pleaded his mom as he saw her put more rice in his bowl.

“ _You need to eat a bit more, sweetie_ ,” she sighed.

“ _I’m not hungry_ ,” he whispered, putting his bowl in front of him.

“ _Maybe if you stopped eating my food, you would be_.” It was directed towards him, when the culprit was the one sitting opposite him. He didn’t look on his right, he didn’t look at his father, he simply whispered a _I’m sorry_ and nibbled on his rice.

Chan despised mealtime. There was always something wrong. It always went wrong, even when everything was fine. He always found something to yell at. It was one of those. It always was, actually. Everyone was eating in silence, a few sentences here and there but nothing much. The food was good, as good as food could be actually—the more he ate the less tasty things got for him.

“ _Pass me the salt, Chan_ ,” his father suddenly said even though Chan was already talking about the class he had earlier today. Chan stopped talking, taking the salt and putting it in his father’s hands. He then tried to talk again, but his father was faster than him. “ _Why isn’t it opened?_ ” His voice was rising a bit. “ _Can’t you open the salt before giving it?_ ” He was now yelling. Chan hung his head low, not even looking at him he knew he probably had a red neck and a vein bulging on the side. “ _Are you stupid or what? Do you think I salt my dish with a closed saltshaker?_ ” Chan felt tears in his eyes for the nth time that day. “ _You can’t even answer?_ ” His voice was echoing through the walls, probably even outside despite all the windows being closed.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Chan mumbled.

“ _Talk correctly!_ ” He yelled, a hand pushing Chan’s shoulder to shake him.

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” Chan said again, more clearly this time, but still choking on his restrained sob. He could feel his mother and brother’s eyes on him. He could feel them judging him. They were all disappointed in him, and so was he. “ _I didn’t know it was closed_ ,” he continued, trying to justify his action, his ignorance and his wrongdoing.

There it was. Tonight’s reason for a ruined dinner. Sometimes it was his brother, sometimes it was him, some other time it was his mother, or no one in particular. Dinner was just _always_ ruined by his family. Never him. Never him, though. His father was never the one ruining it, of course not, how could he, perfect like he was? Chan could laugh at that thought.

His father was a narcissistic lunatic and greedy man that loved no one but himself. He never did anything right in his life but thought of himself as the most perfect man. He led unwanted hands on both of his children without ever realizing how wrong it was. He installed fear and judgment in his children’s eyes. He taught them fear and felt proud of it. Chan despised his father, he despised it so much, the only reason he wasn’t trying to really kill himself was the hope that one day he’ll be there to see his father die and be happy of it.

**Author's Note:**

> find more work on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/softflowermin) :]  
> you can also ask question related to my works on my [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/softflowermin)!


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